


Tongue to Pen

by VampirePaladin



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Folklore, Gen, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/pseuds/VampirePaladin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aila continues to practice reading and writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue to Pen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/gifts).



_The Water Margin_ wasn’t the grandest of ships. It was obvious where it had been patched, rebuilt and modified. There was probably less than half of its original lumber left. It wasn’t a pretty ship, but it was a tough one. It had gone through weather and war and still kept on sailing.

The storm last night had been a hard hitting one, but not even in the top ten worst storms that _The Water Margin_ had weathered. The skies were still overcast and the wind was brisk, but there was no rain or lightning.

Aila stepped onto the deck. She had a bag across her back. The air at sea was so different from back home. Vinay del Zexay had similar scents to it, but nowhere near as strong and with other scents intermingled in. In her personal opinion the air here tasted better than in Zexen. 

She looked around. The captain gave her a friendly smile as he smoked his pipe. Some members of the crew were repairing damage from last night’s storm. Others were running around doing things that she had no words yet to name, though she was sure she’d have them by the time of their return trip. What she didn’t see was Jacques.

He had to be somewhere out here. She had seen Ace, Queen and Joker at breakfast. Geddoe was still in their cabin. She had already checked the cargo hold and asked the ship’s surgeon. There was no place left inside that he could be. He had to be outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. Or was she just not thinking like Jacques?

Aila turned her gaze upwards. Above the sales was a small platform. Ace had called it the crow’s nest. She could see Jacques’ blue coat against the grey sky.

There was a ladder built into the mast. It wasn’t fancy, but it was good enough. Aila climbed up it, hand over calloused hand. The wind pulled and tugged at her, but her grip remained strong and her feet didn’t fail her. When she reached the top she pulled herself up and onto the platform.

“Good morning,” Aila said. She turned around and sat with her back against the mast that still went a little further up. Her left shoulder was touching Jacques’ right.

“Morning.”

Aila pulled her bag off and set it on her lap. She reached inside and pulled out a leather bound book, a bottle of ink and a quill. She carefully wedged the ink in between a pair of boards before she removed the lid. Aila put the bag back on before she opened the book to her most recent pages.

Most of the pages were still blank. The early pages had her practice with just writing the letters before she moved on to simple words and sentences. Her penmanship was crude and scratchy in the earliest pages, but as it progressed it improved more and more. She was still nowhere near as good as most of the others, but she was proud of the progress she had made in such a short amount of time. Ernie had been an excellent teacher and she had encouraged Aila to continue practicing after the defeat of Luc and they all went their separate ways.

“Are you still doing exercises?”

“No, I stopped doing those after we left Caleria. Ernie said that at this point it was important that I just keep writing and that she didn’t want me to get bored with just doing the same exercises over and over again.”

Jacques was silent as Aila dipped her quill in the ink and began writing. She would write a sentence or two, stop, consider what she had just written, sometimes she would scratch things out and would rewrite them.

It had been hard at first. Switching from just doing exercises to actually writing things had been frustrating. She would have to ask the others for help spelling words that she didn’t know or had trick spellings to them. The more and more she wrote, the less she had to ask. The few books she had picked up had also helped tremendously. 

“What are you writing?”

“A story Grandmother used to tell me when I was little. It’s about a little girl who saved the clans from sickness. It’s one of our stories.”

“For the Karaya?”

“Yeah, back at Budehuc I’d spend time with the children. Only a few of the Grasslander children had heard it and none of the others. I told them that story, and then I told another and another. I started telling the stories I knew from the Duck clan and Lizard clan too. But I realized I didn’t really know any for the Safir, Chisa, Alma Kinan or Le Buque. So, I decided to write down the ones I already know and add ones from the places we visit.”

“I’d like to hear.”

“Which one?”

“The one about the little girl.”

Aila turned back a few pages to the beginning of the story. She closed her eyes and let the words that she had heard over and over again on cold winter nights seep out of her heart and into her tongue. When she opened her eyes she was looking down at the page, but she wasn’t truly reading them.

“There was once a woman of the Karaya. She was beautiful and the wind spirits guided her dance. Many warriors fought to win her heart, but instead she gave it to a man from a faraway land. He was a trader and the two adored each other like the sun loves its moon. 

“One night, the two left together with not a word given to her parents. There was worry and fear, but over time, as the warriors found their own wives, it faded away until the woman was only ever thought of by her family.

“Then, one night, after many years, the woman returned with a child. She was changed now, as all people change with time, and none recognized her, none but her family. The woman fell inside the doorway of her parents’ home. 

“The woman told her parents that she had been happy together with her husband. They had a daughter who was brave, wise, and beautiful. There had been bad times but there had been good too. Then the sickness came to the land, tearing her husband from her embrace and now soon to take her away from their daughter. 

“Her parents wept tears of joy and sadness. They were joyful that their daughter had been happy and had brought them a grandchild. They were sad because she would soon be gone from them. With a final kiss to the child, the woman left with the spirits.

“Sadly, the sickness had followed the woman to the village. It attacked with as much mercy as a Lizard Clan warrior. It wasn’t just the Karaya, the other clans were being struck down too. Soon, anger was directed at the child. She was strange. She was not like them. She must have brought the sickness.

“The grandparents did the best they could to shield their granddaughter from their cruel words, but the girl was far too clever to be protected. She would find out what others said about her even if she had to sneak around and listen through holes. The girl decided that whether or not she brought the sickness, as a Karaya she would have to kill it.

“So, one night the girl took dried meat and fruit, a skin of water, and the doll that her beloved parent had given her and left. She walked to the west. She walked for days and days until she got to the point where the sun no longer set. She found a shining hut and knocked on the door.

“The door opened and it was none other than the sun. She asked him how to save the clans. He told her to go speak to a lesser spirit. She asked him again how to save the clans. He told her he had no time for mortal children. She asked a third time how to save the clans. Finally, in annoyance he told her that the only way to save the clans was if someone gave up their most valuable possession to the fire spirits.

“The girl thanked him before turning back to return home. She walked and walked until she was back in the familiar Grasslands. Every clan’s village was quiet, deceptively lethargic with death. By herself the little girl went to the center of the plains. She built the biggest bonfire she could and then threw her doll into it.

“The fire spirits accepted her gift and so they sent tongues of black up to lick the bellies of the clouds. A healing rain began to fall, washing away all the sickness and sending it far away.”

“What happened next?” Jacques asked.

“That is the end of the story.”

Jacques frowned just a little, “You should write what happens next anyways. What are some other stories you have?”

“There is a Zexen one that I learnt from Jimba. How about that?”

Jacques nodded.

Aila turned her book back to the proper section. She didn’t know this story nearly as well, so she’d have to actually read it. 

The two spent most of the day like this with Aila telling story after story. Occasionally, Jacques would offer up one that he knew. The seconds, minutes, and hours blended together into one large story.

Tomorrow they would arrive at the Island Nations and could begin the search for the Punishment Rune. Today they had an eternity of tales.

**Author's Note:**

> The story Aila told is partly inspired by a story I remember from a book as a child.


End file.
